Chapter Twenty-Four
Zayn
New York feels foreign after how long we’ve been gone.
We pull up to Alex’s loft, bikes still strapped to the trailer behind the Jeep.
It’s spotless inside—too clean, almost sterile, like nothing has changed while the rest of our lives have been turned upside down.
That’s Alex for you—he keeps things running, even when the world is chaos.
I drop down next to Dean on the couch, and Alex claims the armchair, his eyes stormy with focus.
“Alright, we’ve got a base of operations. Let’s get organized. What do we actually know?” I ask, trying to anchor us in the facts, not just the panic. Dean nods, and Alex jumps in. “We know she’s somewhere in Brooklyn, near Bedford Avenue. It’s not much. Close to nothing, really, but it’s a start.”
I nod, the weight of it settling in my chest. “And this kind of operation—this dark web trafficking, the encryption, the layers of security—it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen,” Dean says.
I can see how hard Dean is taking all of this.
He hasn’t said it out loud, but I know the guilt is eating him alive—the way his jaw tightens, how he stares at the laptop like he can force a miracle just by sheer will.
He blames himself for not stopping them, for not protecting Ayla, for not hacking fast enough.
But none of this is his fault, and I need him to feel that, to believe it.
Out of all of us, Dean is always the one who shoulders the blame, even when it was impossible for him to do more.
I reach out, squeeze his shoulder, and pull him into a hug—grounding us both.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice low so only he can hear.
“You’re not alone in this. I love you. We’ll figure this out.
Together. I don’t care how long it takes.
But I can’t do this without you, Dean, so don't go there. You hear me?”
Dean lets out a shaky breath, leaning in, and I press a kiss to his forehead—more than a silent promise; it’s everything I can’t put into words. He whispers, “I love you too. Thank you for not letting me drown in all this, Z.”
Alex clears his throat, voice sharp but hopeful. “If we keep eyes on Charles and Nathan, they have to lead us to her eventually. But first, we need to find them. We track everything—work, home, side businesses. They’ll slip up.”
Dean nods, thinking aloud, his voice steadier with purpose. “Let’s start with their offices. Even if they don’t show up every day, they’ll have to eventually, right? All we need is one mistake. One sighting. We’ll be waiting.”
Alex leans forward, tension in his posture. “You want me to stake out Nathan’s firm? I’ll keep eyes out for any weird deliveries or late-night meetings, anything that looks off.”
I nod. “Good. And I’ll take Charles’s office.”
Dean’s jaw tightens. “I’ll keep scanning for digital chatter. If they’re dumb enough to use a phone or a computer, I’ll catch it. We’ll cover every angle. If they slip up, we move. Fast.”
I give them a grim smile. “We’ll get her back. No matter what it takes.”
Alex reaches out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder, that rare, encouraging warmth in his eyes. “We’ve come this far. We’re not stopping now.”
Dean manages a shaky smile, determination hardening his voice. “One mistake. That’s all we fucking need. We’ll be ready.”
Dean and I load into the Jeep, city lights flickering as the early morning settles in.
Alex revs his bike and peels off at the first intersection, heading downtown to watch Nathan’s office.
We’d agreed to split up—cover both targets, double our chances.
More eyes, more ground, more hope we’ll catch even a whisper of a lead.
We circle Charles’s office and park down the block, far enough to blend in but close enough for a clear view of every entrance.
I keep an eye on the building, jotting down license plates, scanning every face that goes in or out, alert for anything out of place.
The city grinds on, oblivious. Dean sits beside me, silent, shoulders tense, lost in thoughts I can only guess at.
After hours of this—watching, waiting, barely breathing—I glance over at him, my hand searching for his shoulder, needing that anchor. “Hey, man, we’re gonna find her,” I murmur and squeeze gently.
He nods, voice rough. “I know. We have to.”
I really look at him. The bruises on his face have faded, but the memory of finding him bleeding out on the kitchen floor still twists in my gut.
I realize just how close I came to losing him, and the thought leaves me hollow.
If it ever comes down to one of us, let it be me.
A world without Dean isn’t one I want to face.
He must feel the weight of my gaze, because he glances over, a tired, crooked smile flickering. “You wanna hear something?”
“Yeah,” I say, genuinely curious.
He hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
“When I was in the hospital, out cold… I had this dream, or whatever the hell it was. Felt real, man. Like, I was walking through this endless forest, sun everywhere, everything just… easy. And then I saw them—my mom and dad. They looked good. They were just waiting for me in the light, like they’d been there the whole time. ”
Dean shakes his head, a disbelieving half-laugh escaping.
“I told them about you, about Alex, about Ayla—all the good shit I never got to say when they were alive. I tried to tell them how much you mean to me, how lucky I am to have all of you. I just… I wanted to stay there. I was so fucking tired, Zayn. I wanted to stop hurting.”
His voice gets rougher. “But my dad grabbed my hand—classic Dad move, right?—and said, ‘You gotta go back, son. They need you. You’re not done yet. Fight for them.’ And man, it felt real.
Like, I woke up, and I could still hear him, swear to God.
I know it sounds nuts, but I think they sent me back.
For you. For Alex, for Ayla. For us. You guys are my reason to be here. No question. It sounds crazy.”
I stare at him, letting the moment settle between us. “I don’t think that’s crazy, Dean. I think it’s incredible. And I think it was real in its own way—real enough to matter.” I offer a small, genuine smile, letting him see how much I mean it.
Dean’s always carried the weight of never getting to tell his parents the truth about us before they died.
I remember holding him through the worst night of his life, piecing him back together when the grief shattered him.
I never left his side—then or now. Being here with him, after almost losing him, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
My voice cracks as I speak. “Dean, I thought I was going to lose you. I was fucking terrified. The thought of it nearly destroyed me.” A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it, raw emotion tightening my throat as I search his eyes, willing him to understand just how much he means to me.
Dean cracks a smile at me, but there’s so much emotion swirling in his eyes—love, relief, fear, and something fiercely grateful.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he says, his voice rough with feeling as he nudges my shoulder, the gesture threaded with affection and the unspoken promise that he’s not going anywhere.
I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my chest finally loosening as I realize just how much I need him here—how much I’d lose without him.
We settle into a quiet hush, the world narrowing down to the simple warmth of his body next to mine.
I reach for his hand, our fingers twining together—an unspoken vow, a lifeline anchoring us in this moment, holding onto hope even in the face of everything we’ve lost.
We sit like that for a long moment, letting the comfort and quiet wrap around us. Then, suddenly, my phone buzzes, jolting us both out of the peace. It’s a text from Alex:
I’ve got visual.
The message is short and urgent, and the next line shows a dropped pin indicating his location.
My heart kicks into overdrive. I throw his GPS up on the screen, adrenaline flooding my veins as I grab my keys and take off in Alex’s direction—ready for whatever comes next, hope burning fierce and bright inside me.
Alexander
I spot Nathan stepping out of the building, glancing over his shoulder like he knows he’s being watched.
I didn’t expect it to be this easy to catch him in the act, but I’m not complaining.
He heads around the back, and I fire up my bike, circling the block to keep him in sight without drawing attention.
My heart hammers as I pull out behind him in traffic, keeping my distance—close enough not to lose him, far enough not to get burned.
Every red light, every turn, I’m on edge, afraid one slip will blow my cover.
I follow for what feels like miles, weaving through the city, nerves strung tight.
Finally, Nathan pulls up to a house—nothing remarkable, a nice place with a manicured lawn, blending perfectly into the neighborhood, and a long gravel driveway that sets it back from the road.
I park down the street, out of sight, and settle in to watch, watching for any sign of movement, every sense on high alert as I wait for Dean and Zayn to catch up.
I text them the address and a quick update, adrenaline burning in my veins.
This could be the break we’ve been desperate for—and I’m not letting Nathan out of my sight.
Given the time, I’m almost certain this is the spot—just before 8 p.m., the usual hour for the livestreams. Every night, like clockwork, they broadcast a new stream with a different girl; it seems to change every couple of days.
Zayn and Dean park the Jeep down the road and walk up to meet me, both keeping their heads down, moving with purpose.
The house is almost too perfect—fresh paint, manicured lawn, nothing to mark it as the source of anything so vile.